I live in a garden.
It’s a beautiful place to live. It’s full of sunlight, and life, and air, and flowers, and tall trees, and warm breezes. The ground is soft and the sky is too. It’s perfect.
In the garden, I have a lot of time. Not much to do here, but that’s how I like it. It’s peaceful. There’s no deadlines, no grades, no critical eyes; nothing to make me feel less than or inferior. In the garden, I am all here. I am all me.
I’ve lived here my whole life. From the day I was born, He brought me up in the garden. Before I knew how to walk, I knew how to dance. Before I knew how to talk, I knew how to sing. Before I was held, I was loved. I’ve never known anything else.
I’ve grown up now. I know the garden well. I know my favorite place by the river, where I talk with Him. I know my favorite patch of flowers, where I dance with Him. I know where my friends gather to feast and chatter and laugh and sing with Him.
I love it here. I never want to leave.
So why would I?
He came up to me one morning as I sat by the river.
“Come with Me”, He says.
He offers His hand to me, but I know by now how to pull myself up.
I follow Him through the field I know, past the trees I know, along the beach I know. And then he stops. And points. There’s something I haven’t seen.
A city.
Through a thick patch of trees is a large city, tall and imposing. A towering cluster of cement buildings. They seem incongruent with the world I know. My world is stable; green, warm and inviting. This world seems cold, abrasive, and insecure. Staring at it make me uncomfortable.
“Why are you showing me this?” I ask.
He just looks at me. He doesn’t say anything.
“Why are you showing me this?” I ask again. “Why are we here?”
He looks deeper. He says nothing, and everything.
“I can’t.” I chuckle. “I live here now. I like it here”. I wait for His response.
He doesn’t. He instead looks back at the city. I see it more clearly.
There’s people. Just like me. They have two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears…
I can hear them. I hear the pained laughter. I hear the muffled screams. I hear the choking sobs.
I look back at Him. He looks at me. In the tears that roll down His cheeks, I see my reflection. As the tears hit the soft ground, I feel them pound on my chest.
I look back out at the city. I see a man, just like me, looking down from high atop a building. His eyes look wild, forlorn, and hopeless. Can the man not see us in the garden?
I watch the man closely, almost as if I can see myself standing at the window beside him. This man wears a grey shirt, stained and tattered. “Look out here, beyond the city walls”, I want to tell the man. But, of course, I’m not there. I’m here in the garden. He can’t hear me.
I look back at Him. He gazes at me again, like He did a moment ago.
“I’m sorry”, I tell Him. “There’s nothing I can do from here.”
He offers me His hand. I just stare at it. I know what He wants.
“I’m okay. I know how to get back”, I say as my eyes dart away from Him and back to my home. I leave Him there at the edge of the garden, even though I can feel the warmth of His gaze baring holes into my head. But I keep walking, because I know my friends are about to start dancing. I can’t miss that today.
I join my friends in the clearing, and the usual music starts to play. An exuberant tune, one that escalates with clapping, stomping, and laughter. It fills the night air with peace and freedom. Typically, by the end of the night, He comes and dances with us. That’s my favorite part.
Tonight, He doesn’t come. Where might He be? He couldn’t still be at the edge of the garden, right? The sun has set already. He must be tired.
We dance until it is time to retire back to our beds. I lie down in my usual spot, nestled on a blanket of soft clovers. I sleep soundly.
The next morning, I awake to Him sitting down beside me. He’s smiling at me, watching my eyes blink awake to see His face. “Good morning”, I tell Him.
He offers me His hand. I tell Him I’m okay.
I go prepare breakfast. He follows me. I love it when He does this, but He should know by now I’ve learned how to feed myself. I have a big day ahead of me, after all.
After I finish my breakfast, I go down to the river to wash myself. He follows me. What does He want now? To be honest, I love spending time with Him, but it’s the thrill of finding Him myself that makes my time with Him more fulfilling. I wipe my face with the cool water, dry myself in the warm sun, and without saying a word to Him, continue on towards my home to prepare my voice for singing.
He follows me all through the day. His eyes continue to bear at the back of my head. Finally, I take a breath, and look at Him.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He offers me His hand. I just look at it.
“No.”
He gazes at me.
“No.”
He still gazes.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. My home is here.” I tell him flat. I don’t know why He bothered to show me the city. Why would He want me there? Doesn’t He know that I belong here in the garden with Him?
I continue throughout the day – my usual routine of singing, dancing, and walking through the garden. I don’t see Him the rest of the day. It’s strange, but luckily it doesn’t throw off my schedule.
As I lay down to rest that night, after a wonderful day, I feel slightly uneasy. I think I miss Him. I feel bad for what I said this morning. Or do I? He needed to know, right? He wants me to be honest with Him.
I know He still loves me, right? Of course He does. I’m still here in the garden. I don’t need a thing. Everything is under control.
I lie on my patch of clover, but don’t close my eyes.
Everything is under control, I tell myself.
Everything is under control…
I toss and turn for hours. I try to focus on the soothing sounds of the river, or the crickets chirping softly, or the warm breeze sifting through the leaves, but all I can hear is crying. It’s Him.
I get up. I can’t see Him anywhere, but I can hear His soft wail. He’s nearby. I travel a ways into the forest, until I see Him. He’s kneeling at a rock, tears dripping down. It’s a familiar sight, though I can’t remember what from. He’s talking to Father. He can see the city through the trees.
I can now hear the cries of the city. The same jeers, shrieks, and wails I heard before.
They pierce me, in the same way His tears did the following morning. It’s painful. Almost as if it’s my own pain. I can feel my soul aching to reach that cry in the dark but…
It’s too much to bear. So I look back at Him. His tearful gaze had shifted back to me. His are the warmest and sharpest tears I know.
Suddenly, my heart starts beating uncontrollably. I take a breath, a large one, and I say what I know I must say.
“Okay”.
I understand now. The pain, the tortured pain of hopelessness crying out into nothingness. There’s no chance for them out there. If only they knew what life in the garden was like. If only they could see.
And it’s like my eyes are now opened. Like the trees around me are taller and more riveted. The ground is springier, the air is crisper. I stare into His forlorn eyes, confident and proud.
It’s time to bring those people to the garden.
I can see it now. The vision of thousands flocking through the city and into the garden. Thousands of shriveled, hunched over people suddenly gulping in the fresh garden air.
He gives an understanding smile, and breathes in to speak. But I know what He wants, so I nod knowingly and turn away.
I race home, bounding through the glen faster than ever before. I quickly gather everyone that I can, to announce my great vision. The vision gets sharper and sharper in my mind, and my spirit laughs within me as each layer of the vision is uncovered.
He gave me a vision. He gave me a vision.
I bring everyone into the meadow, and pass out instruments so that everyone has their part to play.
And we play.
We play. We dance. We sing. We cry. We laugh. We bellow. We chant. We stomp. We yell. We thrive. We are alive.
For hours. And hours. And hours…
Soon, it’s morning. We have played all evening, and many have now laid down in the grass to rest. I decide to retreat home to shut my eyes.
As I approach my bed, He’s waiting there. It’s then that I realize I hadn’t seen him all night.
“Where were you?” I ask Him. “Did you hear us playing last night?”
He nods.
I tell Him that it was the loudest and most exuberantly we had ever played. The whole garden shook with the frenzy that we created.
He smiles wistfully. My heart sinks a little.
And then He extends His hand once again. My heart sinks more.
“They will hear us,” I tell Him. “Tonight, we will dance and sing even louder. Even longer. We’ll go into the morning.”
His hand does not move.
“When they hear us, they will come. Trust me.” I reassure Him.
His hand needs no reassuring.
So I chuckle anxiously, not knowing what to say. He’s just giving me a hard time. He knows what I’m doing.
I sleep for hours, nestled softly in the clovers, and soon it is time to play again. We gather our instruments and begin to play like the night before. We’re all a bit big sleep-drunk from the night before, but we push on. Louder and louder our music escalates until the strings break and the drums are beaten in and our voices are sore. We press on, until the sun rises once again. Our bodies ache, but our hearts are still full.
I return back to my home to sleep. He hasn’t moved. Neither has His hand. How does He keep it held up for so long? Doesn’t He get tired?
I smile at Him, and lay down to rest, knowing that in a few hours the cycle begins again.
When I arise, the sun has already set. I have slept through the day, and dusk has fallen. I race to the meadow, hoping to join in what has already begun. But there’s no music. No dancing. No one.
Except Him. He finally decided to show up.
He’s got that look in His eyes like a couple nights before. That look that pierced my heart once, and I pray never again. But I take a breath and approach Him.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
He shakes His head. No one is coming.
“Then what are you here for?”
He walks off through the trees. It would feel too rude not to follow Him, so I go. My heart sinks when I realize where He is going.
Through the clearing, past the trees, through the brush, and He stops right at the edge of the tree line. His gaze fixes back to the tall buildings. To that same man in the tattered gray shirt, still perched atop that same building. The cries still ring out.
I look over to Him. His face is bold and stoic, but once again I see the tears.
I almost want to roll my eyes. I almost want to leave in defiance. But I restrain myself and let out a surly sigh, to indicate my irritation. He looks back to me.
“Okay”, I say. “What do you want from me?”
He says nothing.
“I followed you here. I saw what you wanted me to see. I felt what you wanted me to feel. I even organized the past evenings’ events, to respond to this.”
Silence.
“Why is what I’m offering never enough? Why is it so impossible to please you? Why can’t we just go back to our old life in the garden??”
His eyes fill with tenderness as my bitter eyes fill with tears.
I cry. He embraces me. It’s kind of embarrassing, actually.
Eventually I let go. We lock eyes.
His hand comes forward.
And finally, He speaks.
“Trust me.”
My breath cuts off.
My hands go numb.
My eyes sting.
My mouth goes dry.
I have a thousand questions. Two thousand. Three thousand.
I hear the “no” beating beating beating at my heart.
I hear the “no” pulsing through my veins.
The word rattles on my tongue. My lips begin to move…
But my eyes lock with His and the word loses all meaning.
I know those eyes. Those eyes that saw me the moment I was born. Those eyes that could see my inner most thoughts racing inside me like children on a beach. Those eyes that have always known.
And somehow, I feel safe.
Somehow, I feel loved.
Somehow, I feel alive.
“Trust me”, He says.
And somehow, I do.
So I grab His hand. And I take a breath.
And we walk into the city.
Together.
